


You don't mix wine with vodka.

by kuru (catastrophage)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Countries Using Human Names, Dark, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Napoleonic Wars, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 20:11:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8461369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catastrophage/pseuds/kuru
Summary: Feliks' eyes had been sparkly ever since Gilbert was beaten. Here his prince marched in, he came to win his war, to save him. They would wear fancy dresses and make love on the wide beaches of the baltic sea. If just...A dark fiction of unrequited love, set in the time of the Napoleonic Wars (1805-1812).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2010 and reposted for AO3 ☆  
> Notes on history: the Franco-Austrian war is completely left out of this.  
> Also, Francis and Antonio weren't on good terms at the time, but it felt good to me to include the missing trio member.  
> The fiction was a request by yuaelt back on livejournal six years ago. This is still for you, yu!

**You don't mix wine with vodka.**

Isn't it weird how big and empty even the smallest bed can feel when one awakes from a sweet, wet fantasy? Feliks carefully placed his left hand on his chest to feel his heart beating fast. Just a minute before he had dreamt of a thousand kisses placed all over his body. He still felt warm from the sensation. Slowly he sat up and bent over until he could feel his bangs touching his thighs. He thought of long, wavy hair. Like this it must feel, just a million times softer. He lead a finger to his mouth, to make it wet and slippery with salvia. Then he placed it to his neck, softly massaging a spot, trying to imagine it was the tip of a tongue. Would the other bite him, he wondered. He quickly pinched the wet spot to get that sensation. It felt good too. When his fingernails slightly scratched down the tendon, simulating the feeling of beard stubbles, a soft moan escaped his throat.

  
**September 1805**

Gilbert looked up from the long letter Roderich had given him to read. "It's annoying."  
"It's a declaration of war."  
"Are you sure it is? He can't seriously want that. We'd beat him until he runs home crying."  
To underline his statement Gilbert added his mocking laughter. Roderich, however didn't feel like laughing about it. "We need to put things back into order, once and for all. Recently he's been acting weird. He has put a great wave of confusion all over Europe and cut ties with his former allies. Gilbert, he even cut ties with you!"

The younger swallowed. He didn't like to be reminded of it. He sure had written a great rant about that bastard in his diary. Once out of his system he just wanted to forget they'd ever been on talking terms to begin with. But Roderich had a point there: Francis indeed was acting weird these days.  
"Gilbert, if this isn't a declaration of war yet, then I am going to make it one."

"I'm in." he mumbled. Ever since they had shared Poland they had become a little closer anyway.

  
**Interlude**

"A prince on a white horse."  
The picture Feliks had on his mind could never be drawn, as it would lack his sincere love. It would never show the hopes, would never make the observer feel the same sting in his heart, the pain that was so soothing, so promising to him. The blue and white and red mixed with a shade of hot pink, a blush, longing. His mind showed him a field of flowers, then a wall of fire, a room far from space and time, hot and burning just for the two of them. A thought, quiet like a whisper: "Take me, I'm all yours."  
He kept rocking back and forwards on his bed, alone in his room, his body answering to the heat of his heart. A shudder ran through his whole body. And then: Freedom.

  
**August 1806**

"For all we know, the whole European mainland is in danger. We're at war."  
Gilbert didn't exactly want to tell the other, but he needed to talk and he couldn't think of anything else than that blonde bitch annoying the hell out of him. And Roderich, obviously. "Do you dare to take sides?"  
Ivan smiled. "But Prussia, I'm always by your side."  
Gilbert suppressed a shiver and crossed his legs for a little comfort.  
Ivan smiled even wider, a smile so easily mistaken for kindness and innocence. "We shared Poland, didn't we? So we are friends now."  
"Yeah... yes exactly. We should write that down in a contract or something."  
Deep violet eyes turned from friendly to hungry for a moment. _"Да. We should."_

...

The house lay dark, almost vacant. Feliks all silently approached the only lit room. He didn't want to see any of the others. They had hurt him, all in their own way. They had parted his land and put him here, to work for them. Roderich seemed strict yet fair and Gilbert had taken a liking in spending long afternoons with him, trying to teach him German or starting long political discussions, that never lead anywhere. Sometimes they went to bed together. He was a weird fellow.  
Ivan, however... Feliks bit his lips to distract himself from the nausea he felt coming up. Ivan was not only weird, Ivan was plain sick.

Still he didn't want to be alone either. Since his fantasies had left him, and all his snacks were gone, he could feel the hidden loneliness reaching out for his soul again.  
He pushed the door open for another couple of centimeters and peeked into the room.  
What he could see there made him gasp and wanting to back off, but he couldn't move and just kept staring.

Gilbert lay on the sofa, Ivan sat over him in a dominant position. He bowed down and kissed the smaller, rough and claiming, just like it was in his nature. Gilbert answered, obviously trying to win the dominance for himself, yet not breaking the kiss. And when they finally broke apart again, Gilbert was the first speaking: _"France will be ours."_

Feliks ran.

  
**Interlude**

The language of free souls was the language of poems. _Dans les vagues de plaisir._ He had spent hours drawing a letterset of butterflies in a flower garden, just for this special ocassion. _Embrassant au coucher du soleil._ Now was the right time to use it. He just didn't know yet how to warn the other - for all he knew his letters could be controlled. Would it even reach the other nation? _Hope, le désir._  
In lack of candy, Feliks started biting his fingernails. He wanted to tell the other how he was waiting for him all the time. How he wanted the other to win his war, how afterwards they could coexist in peace and freedom, as the new super powers of europe. _Unis dans l'amour infini._ They would spend all day and night writing poems and drawing pictures. They would wear fancy dresses and make love on the wide beaches of the baltic sea. _Je t'aime._ If just the other wouldn't run straight into a trap here...

  
**October 1806**  
  
_French soldiers take in Prussian Berlin under the command of Napoleon Bonaparte._  
_This should be the last victory of the French army, as in the following winter they had to face wide, rough lands, unknown cold and the full force of Russia._

Feliks' eyes had been sparkly ever since Gilbert was beaten. Here his prince marched in, he came to win his war, to save him. One night Francis stayed in Warsaw, but he seemed busy with war things and told Feliks to stay in the kitchen. _Aparently he likes my cooking,_ Feliks thought. _And when we marry he will stay at my home often enough._

When he left to fight Russia, Feliks was all confident. To him there was no way he could possibly lose. He had come to his home, he had come to rescue him. He had read his letter and he would return, celebrating their victory together. He would sew him a new uniform, just in case the old one got damaged. And get some vodka. Or maybe rather... some wine?

  
**December 1812**

Feliks woke up when he heard the rough noise of heavy boots in front of his door. The boots of a soldier. He sat up straight. "Francis...?"  
The answer came quickly. _"Niet."_

"I'm afraid that fellow has returned home a while ago." Ivan informed him, entering the room. "Got beaten up pretty hard by Gilbert and me. I think he had broken a bone, too. Do you think it will heal? I for my part would prefer to see him crippled a little. His screams were hilarious, you should have heard that. Too sad you wouldn't fight on our side."  
And with these words he sat down on the side of his bed. Feliks shivered.

"A while ago, I got this lovely letter from you. Francis was so nice to translate it. Admitting, he didn't have much of a choice, with my hands on his throat. A lovely view. I liked best when his eyes got wider from lack of breath."  
Ivan smiled, he was calm and cheerful as always, as if he was talking about the weather.

For a moment, all Feliks wanted was to throw up. He considered it. But then curiousity won and he swallowed his nausea. "Which letter?"  
"Your loveletter for me, of course. But Feliks, you should know I don't speak French. Next time tell me right away, da?"

The younger just fainted from the horror he felt. He couldn't feel the other bowing down to him, he couldn't hear him whisper.  
"You're a bad child, Feliks. This pain you feel is your punishment. You should have known better."

_"Don't betray me."_

  
**Epilogue**

Francis leaned back until his head rested in Antonio's laps. A tan hand stroke through his blonde mane, carefully stopping and resting on the bandages around his forehead. Francis closed his eyes.

"Antonio?"  
"Mh...?"  
"Do you know of a country called Poland?"  
"Have heard of it."  
"He's a bit silly."  
"Thought so."  
"But I think he's cute."

They both smiled, then shrugged it off and continued their little siesta.

  
**~Fin~**


End file.
